Interviw With A Deatheater
by turncoat
Summary: Severus Snape has been misunderstood, hated and scrutinized by the wizarding public for to long. When he gets the chance to do an interview for 'The Owl' he takes it. .hbp spoilers.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters/ideas/themes.

Attention: This story contains spoilers from the HPB if you have not read it and do not want to know what happens do not read further.

-Prologue-

Being here reminds me of my Hogwarts days. It's been a while. It's been even longer since I was actually nervous about interviewing someone. I woke up much to early this morning. Four a.m. to be precise. I almost died of shock realizing that I have six hours to waste before even leaving my room. It was a long six hours.

But now I'm here walking down the dingy hallway that I remember all to well from my days here. The gray slabs just call out to me with memories. When Matt pulled my hair on my first day. When Flitwick caught me with Steven around this corner. And my first Potions class.

Glancing down to the pad of paper in my hand where I wrote the directions to his private rooms I find they are right in front of me. The portrait of the deep silver and green snake what I would consider and obvious give away for anyone who knew him well enough. I take a step toward the painting and pull out my wand. The snake remains stationary. Placing the tip of the dark cedar to the canvass I trace along its thick strong body, having just found a new respect for the beauty of such an animal.

The snake never stirs but as my wand leave the canvas the portrait swings inward slightly. Allowing just enough space for me to squeeze through. I can feel the crackle of magic against my exposed arms and calves as I enter his quarters. The portrait closes behind me as I take two steps inside, now feeling underdressed in my pencil skirt and silk blouse.

I had never been in a teacher's rooms before. His are not what I would have expected a man like Severus Snape to dwell in. Deep rich tones of greens, silvers and black decorate this space. Gorgeous by any designer's standards. I take another step inside and then spot him.

The man that sent shivers of terror down my spine when I was eleven years old, and continued to do so until I graduated seven years later.

"Your right on time." He says from his seat on a plush suede chair. I don't know how he knew I was here, or that it was me. His back has been to me this whole time. Perhaps he can really read minds.

"Professor Snape?" I question even though I already know the answer. He stands and turns to face me. I note that his heavy outer cloak has been removed and is slung over the back of the chair in which he sat. He still looks overdressed. Black turtle neck buttoned up his neck and over that a vest, which is also fully buttoned.

I shift unsurely in my stilettos, which I am thankful I picked over my flats I was going to wear.

"Not Professor." He corrects stiffly as he stares at me " Severus."

"Severus." I repeat under my breath feeling a slight blush on my checks at my mistake.

"I take it you are the reporter from The Owl?" He asks as she side steps around his chair and makes his way toward me.

"Yes," I respond quickly placing my wand into my purse before holding out my hand to him. " Domna. Dorma Vilhelmina." He nods once eyes remaining intently on me as he approaches. I wonder if he remembers me. If he remembers the quiet redhead who sat at the back of his class hair hanging in her face as she tried desperately to still her quaking hands.

"Yes, I remember you." He says eyebrow quirking only slightly as he circles me once as if to inspect me. I stand rigidly as he makes his way to the front before pulling out his wand. I can hear him mutter a few spells. Some I recognize as charm disablement and others, I'm sure I'll never hear again.

He seems pleased with the result and makes his way back to the chair he had been sitting in before my arrival, which now feels like an intrusion on a very private time. He gestures to the matching chair that sits on an angle to his own. I move slowly to it my heels clicking off the floor as I make my way to it. Sinking into the soft material I pull my quill out of my purse and flip the page in my notepad, which holds the directions to his rooms.

I allow the silence to settle between us as he turns in his chair only slightly so I see his steady profile. He looks different then I remember him. The lines around his eyes have sunken deeper, creases around his lips form a steady frown, which I never saw removed from his face. I know a lot has transpired. And he knows that is what I'm about to ask about.

About why he killed Albus Dumbledore.

About how he managed to convince the young Mr. Potter that he was 'innocent' of the act.

About why he joined in the first place.

Like any good reporter I knew where I had to start. The beginning.

"Are you ready Severus?" I mange to say my quiver in my voice managing to remain unnoticed as he turns slightly to make eye contact. He sighs softly, a moment of weakness.

"Yes." He replies before shifting so I greet his profile once more. "Ask away."

Now it is my turn to show weakness. I now wonder why I thought I could do this. Why I thought I could interview one of the most hated men in the wizarding world. Why I thought I could sit in a room with the man who killed Albus Dumbledore. But as I look down at my shaking hands I remember why. I let out the breath I hadn't know I was holding and look up to face him. Quill firmly held in my fingers I ask.

"Why did you join the Death Eaters?"


End file.
